


Vulnerable

by MartyMiaMatt



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-up Yuri, Angst, Cannot Spit It Out, Lack of Communication, M/M, One-Sided Crush, Pining, Post Finale, Slight Canon Divergence, Unrequited Love, sexual fantasies, teenage crush for an older man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartyMiaMatt/pseuds/MartyMiaMatt
Summary: Four years since the last time he had been there.Raindrops continued to fall with their monotonous rhythm over the fabric of his umbrella and Yuri bit his tongue.He couldn’t help but think that the bad weather could only mean bad luck.---(Or: Yuri Plisetsky has harbored feelings for Yuuri Katsuki for years without knowing how to express them or how to let go.When an occasion presents for the two skaters to spend a few days together after a long time, old pain resurfaces.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic takes place after the finale, I wrote it before watching episode 12.  
> A few details about what the characters have been up to since the Grand Prix Finale have been deliberately left ambiguous because of this.  
> I wrote this story around a prompt that was given to me by my friend Mads, which was "dirt". I'm afraid I didn't do it justice.  
> I still hope that at least someone will find this piece pleasant enough.  
> As usual, English is not my first language so please let me know if there are any mistakes I should correct. Also, please correct me if I got anything wrong while referencing the original plot.

**1.**

He never should’ve accepted to go in the first place. That much was certain.

Yuri Plisetsky stepped off the taxi. He gripped the handle of his trolley suitcase until he felt mild pain in his fingers, his body shivering under the light cover of his denim jacket.

His free hand fumbled to open the new foldable umbrella he had hastily bought at the airport.

He looked around and inhaled deeply. He felt the rich, humid air of Japanese springtime filling his nostrils and lungs.  

Lead-grey clouds hovered in the sky above him. A heavy rain had been falling since his arrival, covering the sideway in a multitude of puddles.

He resumed walking, the soles of his shoes threatening to slip with each tentative step.

Little by little, the façade of the Yu-Topia main building appeared through the mist of thick raindrops.

Yuri stopped at the gates. They were half-open, but he hesitated before walking past them. As much as he tried to keep his emotions at bay, memories resurfaced and exploded in his brain all at once – colors and smells and touch and echoes of distant words.

Four years since the last time he had been there.

Raindrops continued to fall with their monotonous rhythm over the fabric of his umbrella and Yuri bit his tongue.

He couldn’t help but think that the bad weather could only mean bad luck.

 

It had all been Phichit’s idea, though many of the others had been quick to jump in.

The Thai skater had suggested gathering the Gran Prix ‘old group’ for some sort of ‘reunion’. He and Yuuri Katsuki had agreed that the location could be the Katsuki family’s hot springs resort in Hasetsu, even though Yuuri himself no longer lived there. The presence of several international skaters would create an excellent pretext to support his parents’ finances and boost the small town’s tourism, by turning a friendly meeting into a bit of a public event.

They were going to hold a small tournament at the Ice Castle’s rink. Through word of mouth they would ensure coverage by the local media.

The preparations had been going on for over four months, in a furious back-and-forth of emails, phone calls, text messages, mishaps and last-minute changes.

Finally, the finished program had begun to form. The skaters would arrive in Japan on the first day of April and they would stay for three days. Those who couldn’t be hosted at the resort, due to its limited room, would be placed at a hotel just outside the city.

When Yuri Plisetsky had received the invitation, back in winter, his first impulse had been that of saying no.

He had been in the US, training, and the perspective of meeting his old colleagues and opponents had elicited no fuzzy feelings in him. With the exception of Otabek and, sporadically, Victor, he hadn’t heard from any of them in a long time. He hadn’t been _thinking_ much about any of them; and why would he?

The invitation, though, had not come from Phichit or even Victor – but from Katsuki himself.

Not a text or an email, either. An actual phone call, his voice soft and cheerful and distant, interrupted by loud cracks and background noises.

So Yuri had bit his lower lip, kicking one foot with the other as he stood in the middle of the small kitchen in his flat.

He had fought back the urge to hang up rudely, without bothering to find an excuse. He did not have much free time, but he knew he could afford the trip if he wanted.

 _Did_ he want to go?

The others would pester him to no end if he didn’t show up, even though they probably couldn’t care that much about seeing him.

Most importantly, he’d known that Katsuki would be personally disappointed by his refusal. He would never admit it, of course, he would never insist or ask for explanations; but it would hurt him.

Hell, Yuri was pretty goddamn sure he didn’t want to be the one to blow up Katsuki’s little party.

“Alright”, he had sighed. “Yeah, fine. I’ll let you know in a few days.”

 

Soaked to the bone, Yuri stood in front of the wooden door. He took out his cell phone from one of his pockets and checked the display, before remembering that there was little to no service. It was 7:37 PM there, and he was starting to feel the weariness of the trip and the jet lag.

He straightened his back and swallowed. No point in overthinking now.

He rang the doorbell and waited.

A few moments later, the door opened and Katsuki Yuuri stood in front of him.

They stared at each other in silence, for a few seconds, as the water kept falling and falling.

Then, Katsuki stepped towards him and a tentative smile spread on his face.

“… Yuri! Hi! I’m glad that you’re here!” he exclaimed, making a small gesture with his hand to invite him in.

It was as if Yuri had remembered where he was all of a sudden; he moved to walk.

As he did so, one of the wheels of his trolley got caught in a small pile of mud. Yuri pulled the handle a little too forcefully and the baggage hit the back of his leg, almost sending him to trip face down on the ground.

He managed to avoid a completely humiliating fall by putting one knee down. As he cursed through his teeth, he became vaguely aware of the fact that Katsuki was hovering over him, radiating concern but still reluctant to touch him. Japanese politeness, Yuri thought to himself with no amusement.

“Are… are you alright?”

Finally, Katsuki stuck out a hand in front of him. Yuri did not take it and he rose to his feet by himself. He took a look at the damage. The knees of his trousers were probably stained beyond repair, not that he really cared much. It wasn’t one of his favorite pairs anyway.

“I’m fine, I’m fine”, he muttered.

Silently, his former rival took Yuri’s luggage before he could stop him.

“Please, go inside. I will find some warm clothes for you” he said, kind as ever. Yuri glanced at him.

“I don’t need help, you know”, he grumbled, unconvincingly.

The Japanese ignored him and resolved to precede him through the doorway.

Yuri heard him mutter something under his breath, something that sounded like, “I’m not offering help because you _need_ it.”

The door shut behind them and they found themselves standing in the hallway.

Yuri looked down.

He was more certain than ever now. He never should have come.

 

**2.**

Yuuri’s parents came to welcome him and they showered him with unexpected affection and remarks full of admiration and curiosity. Yuuri’s sister wasn’t there, they said, but they assured him that she would come greet him soon, that she wanted to welcome him back as much as everyone else.

Katsuki translated for them as he ran around, disposing of Yuri’s luggage and preparing his guest room.

“Come with me. I’ll let you wash and change clothes if you want, then we can eat”, Yuuri told him, approaching him during a pause in the conversation. Yuri was still standing in the middle of the reception room, a little dazed by the hospitality.

He looked at Yuuri. “You haven’t been waiting for me to eat, right?”

The Japanese shrugged with a little smile. “It’s ok, it’s ok.” He paused. “Everyone’s happy to see you, Yurio. Everyone – Victor too, he’s coming tomorrow, he wants to ask you so many things…”

His voice trailed off as Yuri followed him. The old Japanese nickname, which he had hated in his teenage years, suddenly felt welcome in a new way; like an old trinket, locked inside a box for many years and then found again.

Yuuri led him to his room. It was the same one he had occupied during his first stay, the one opposite to where the Japanese slept. Except that he no longer slept there most of the time; Katsuki and Victor had been living together for almost three years now.

Katsuki showed him the futon-styled bed arranged in the middle of the room, along with everything else he could need. Yuri pretended to listen, but he was more focused on studying the older man’s appearance. Now that they were alone and no longer under the rain, he could take a closer look.

 

It was still him, no doubt, the old ‘Katsudon’ he had known back then. A little older and more mature, his face maybe a little less round, framed by a different pair of glasses. He still had never fully graduated to contacts, then. But his voice, his posture, and his shy smile were still very much the same.

Katsuki, too, was staring at him. Yuri took a while to notice. He didn’t usually care much about his own appearance; and yet he found himself wondering what the other would think of him. They hadn’t seen each other in person for years.

“You look in good shape.” Yuuri commented kindly. “You’re so tall now!”

One of Yuri’s hands reflexively went to comb a few strands of his hair. He wore it a little longer now, almost brushing his shoulders, though he’d been pondering about cutting it for weeks. _Comfort over flamboyance._ He was taller, yes, though still inches shorter than Katsuki. His frame was lithe and lean, but his arms and legs had gotten longer and stronger.

“Thanks”, he said finally. A beat. “For everything. I’m sorry to bother your family.”

The only flight available had caused him to arrive a day earlier than the others. He had wanted to stay at the hotel; but Yuuri had insisted that he would be welcome in his parents’ house.

Yuri had wanted to run away. He had also wanted to accept.

He had yielded and said yes, again, to Katsuki’s offering.

 

Yuuri’s voice swam through his ears and Yuri struggled to focus on what he was saying.

“Take your time, put yourself at ease. I will see you later.”

The Russian nodded and watched him exit the room.

He looked around for a moment, unsure whether the sudden solitude made him feel relaxed or uncomfortable. Through the walls, he could hear the sounds of dishes and cutlery being set on a table in the dining room.

He knelt down to open his luggage. As promised, Katsuki had left clean clothes for him on the bed, even though he had his own and a dirty pair wasn’t that much of a problem. He thought about it for a minute and then decided it would be more polite to wear the ones he had been offered.

Damn Katsuki, he thought with his lips pressed in a grimace, why did he have to make everything so weird. He hadn’t been there for a full hour yet.  

He undressed to take a quick shower.

The rest of them would arrive the next day. The old man Victor, of course; Phichit, Chris, Georgi, the Crispino siblings and even JJ. Apparently, they were all so happy and eager to reunite the gang and reminisce about the past.

Yuri stood in the shower and felt the scalding water soak his hair and fall on his body. Hot steam clung to his skin like sweat.

There was a lump in his throat that wouldn’t go away.

Otabek had been invited, but he hadn’t been able to make it. Yuri turned off the faucet. He would’ve liked to call him, but he knew how busy he was.

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a soft, white bathrobe around his body.

Tomorrow Victor would be there. There was no doubt that he, too, would be staying under Katsuki’s roof.

 

When Yuri walked out of the bathroom and into the semi-dark corridor, everything was strangely quiet.

He considered walking to the dining room by himself, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of faint embarrassment. Where had Katsuki gone now? He didn’t want to find himself alone with his parents, no matter how nice they were, having to nod and smile until his colleague decided to appear.

Finally he resolved to go knock on his door. If he was there, he would know soon and then all that awkwardness would be over.

When he stood in front of Yuuri’s room, he saw that the door was slightly ajar. Yuri raised his fist to knock and prepared to call the other’s name, then he stopped.

From beyond the wooden panel, nothing but more silence. Before he could think about what he was doing, Yuri cautiously leaned over and peeked through the small creak.

He knew that he wasn’t supposed to lurk around peeping behind doors like a 9-year-old.  He didn’t know what he was expecting – but that wasn’t what he saw.

 

Katsuki was sitting in the middle of the room, leaning on a lime-green gym mat. Both legs were stretched forward in front of him, perfectly straight and adhering to the floor. His back was arched upwards and his forehead was touching his knees.

Yuri held his breath. Katsuki was turning away from him and had given no sign of having noticed his presence. He kept looking at him as the other slowly changed his position, spreading his legs and gracefully leaning over the right one.

There was almost no visible effort in his gestures, no strain, even though Yuri knew perfectly well how even the most simple of exercise had been honed and made smooth by years of practice. It was something all of them skaters could relate to.

Under a black t-shirt and plain dark-grey sweatpants, Katsuki’s body looked soft, disciplined and beautifully powerful.

The Russian skater felt his cheeks become flushed and dropped his arms along his sides.

After a moment, he took a step back and loudly cleared his throat. He hoped that his voice wouldn’t shake.

“Hey, Katsuki!”, he yelled. “Are you coming or not?! I’m starving!”

 

Yuri had found himself thinking about it, over the years. Thinking about Katsuki Yuuri’s body.

He had watched him countless times standing close to Victor, holding hands while they whispered to each other words that the rest of the world couldn’t hear.

He had seen a kiss, once; a moment that he shouldn’t have witnessed, it wasn’t meant for him, he knew that, but it hadn’t been his fault.

He had stumbled upon the pair one day, back in Moscow during the Rostelem Cup, while they were alone during a break. They’d been hiding like schoolboys around a corner in the street outside the Ice Palace.

Yuri had saw them but they had not seen him, and he had stormed off as his heart raced and his head burned. He had not answered when someone had asked him what was wrong.

He had dreamed stupid dreams of being in Victor’s place. Holding Yuuri’s hand and teasing him by stealing his glasses.

He’d imagined having to stand on the tip of his toes to kiss Yuuri on the mouth and maybe bite his lip, the way he had seen in certain movies. Or maybe kiss him with his skates on - that way their heights would be even - and Yuuri would be the one waiting for him outside the rink and watching as Yuri put on a show.

 

How would it feel to be the one who could hold Katsuki down?

Put his hands on his hips and grip his strong, smooth thighs. Tug a fistful of Yuuri’s dark hair and hear him moan, watch his cheeks become pink.

He’d wondered about how Katsuki would look like in those intimate moments: what sounds did he make, what little expressions appeared on his face, what did he like, what did he want?

Yuri himself had no experience in those matters, back then. All he had was his fantasy and an endless frustration that he channeled into his skating.

He’d made his movements sharper, his jumps higher, his gestures more forceful for each kiss he couldn’t have.

Yuri had imagined them training together, running, stretching, swimming together before kissing breathlessly. The two of them racing against each other as they did now; not for Victor or for the rest of the world, but for each other.

Challenging each other to reach their maximum potential.

 

**3.**

They ended up having dinner by themselves. Katsuki’s parents had quietly retired to some other area of the house and the two skaters sat across each other at one of the small tables.

The dining room was pleasantly warm and the dim, yellow lights created a relaxed atmosphere.

They did not eat _katsudon_ this time (or _pirozhki_ , for that matter); but the food that Yuuri’s mother had cooked was hot and delicious and Yuri enjoyed re-discovering all the flavors.

They did not talk much, at first. As time passed, however, the silence between them became gradually less tense.

They started volleying questions to one another. They discussed the things they’d been up to over the years; they mentioned mutual friends and acquaintances and they recalled shared memories. Yuuri had been hearing some of the news through Victor, but he seemed endlessly curious and delighted to know from him directly.

A little surprisingly, at the beginning of dinner Yuuri had offered him beer.

Neither of them was very good with alcohol (Yuri still remembered the other’s embarrassing exploits while intoxicated, and he’d had his own share of regrettable experiences), but they enjoyed sharing a few glasses. Then Katsuki pulled out a bottle of champagne, ‘from the special supply they’d prepared for the reunion’, he said.

 

Warmed up by the food and the lazy evening, they toasted and poked fun at each other.

They jokingly played the part of the ‘sophisticated adults’ neither of them truly was - not even now. At 28, Katsuki was a calmer but still youthful version of himself; he had a touch of humor and a soft mischievousness that kept catching Yuri off guard.

The Japanese was careful enough to drink in moderation, but Yuri found himself becoming a little tipsy. Heat stung on his ears and cheeks and he licked his lips, which tasted bitter and salty.

He stared at Katsuki, who was now leaning on an elbow, his chin resting on the back of his hand.

Victor’s name didn’t come up as often as Yuri had expected, though Yuuri did mention him now and then.

He always did so affectionately and nonchalantly: not as an afterthought, but almost as if Victor’s presence was such a natural part of his life – an extension of his being – that Yuuri didn’t have to put any thought into it.

He still wore the ring, of course. Yuri had noticed immediately.

It hurt, but the Russian looked away and grinned more broadly that he had any reason to.

 

When the Japanese asked about him and his love life, Yuri averted the question and gave a curt answer.

He and Otabek had dated briefly, four years before; it had been shortly after the Grand Prix and they’d only lasted a few months. He didn’t go into detail about this with Katsuki. They had remained friendly, though, and Otabek was still one of the few people he trusted blindly.

Aside from him, Yuri had preferred to focus on his career. He shunned social events and lived almost in isolation, as much as he could.

He did not lack the opportunities for a date, but he always ended up passing them.

He had decided to focus on pushing his body over its limits, draining it to the last of its resources. He wanted to take everything he still could, before the inevitable decline.

 

“Hey, Yurio. You must be tired.”

Yuri glanced up from the table’s wooden surface to meet Yuuri’s gaze. He hastily hid a yawn behind the back of his hand.

He’d lost track of the time, but now the weight of the day came back to him all at once. “Yeah, a little”, he admitted.

Yuuri smiled and tilted his head to one side. “Let’s go, then. Tomorrow is going to be a big day!”

Yuri wanted to protest for being treated like a child, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he slowly got up from his chair and clung to the corner of the table with one hand for support.

He wasn’t drunk, but his balance was a little off.

They exited the room. Yuri followed the Japanese a little closer than necessary, vaguely noticing that he was threatening to bump into him with every step.

When Katsuki stopped on the threshold of the guest room, his left hand brushed against Yuri’s arm and the small touch felt electric.

Yuuri stood in front of him. The blond swallowed.

He felt light-headed, and burning hot.

“Hey”, he blurted out, “we should go for a run tomorrow in the morning. Like we used to. Before the others arrive.”

Yuuri nodded. “Would you like that?”

Yuri’s hands were shaking. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stay still. “Yeah. I’m--”, he licked his lips, “I’m happy to be back, Yuuri.”

He didn’t use the other’s first name often, and the older man seemed pleased by the change. One of his hands came to rest on Yuri’s shoulder, hesitantly squeezing it.

Yuri leaned forward. Almost allowing his whole body to just – _fall_.

If he’d kissed the other just then, at that moment, he wondered…

He envisioned pushing Katsuki against the wall, dragging him down on the floor. Getting on top of him, their bodies grinding against each other. Maybe Katsuki would surrender under his hands and his mouth.

His skin would be smooth and hot, his body strong but malleable. That kind of softness, Yuri had come to understand, that wasn’t the same thing as weakness.

His forehead almost touched the other’s face. Strands of his golden hair brushing softly against Yuuri’s chin.

He lifted his head and now their lips were barely breaths apart and all Yuri could feel was heat and the heavy pumping of blood in his temples—

“Oh”, Katsuki whispered, a barely audible sound. A single, small word that revealed understanding but no… _surprise_.

It was then that Yuri understood that the other knew, he _knew,_ Katsuki had always _known_ , and it felt like a blow to the stomach.

Then the Japanese took a step back.

 

All heat seemed to escape from Yuri’s body all of a sudden, leaving his skin completely cold, as if he had been lying on the ice floor of the rink for hours.

He gasped.

He stared at Yuuri’s face.

“No”, Yuuri whispered. “I can’t. You know that.”

His voice was soft and gentle, but firm. “Yuri, I’m sorry… you know how thing are. I love Victor…”

Why did he have to keep gutting him like that? There was no air in Yuri’s lungs. He wanted to speak, he wanted to yell and scream until his throat was hoarse, but he couldn’t.

Katsuki touched the frame of his glasses. It was clear that he was searching for something to say, searching for the right words that would make the truth less harsh. He was about to open his mouth again, when Yuri found the strength to growl:

“Did you… know?”

A pause.

Silence.

Intolerable.

 

“Yes”, the older skater admitted quietly, after a while.

“You never said anything!”. Yuri snapped, finally, and his voice came out as a roar loud enough to startle the other. “Not a fucking thing, Katsuki! Never! Why?”

The tone, rather than the cursing, seemed to make Yuuri flinch.

The Japanese straightened his shoulders, seemingly bracing himself for a blow.

“You were a child. You had other things on your mind… I thought it would go away.”

The Russian stepped towards him, aggressively now, using all of his height to make himself bigger. He knew it wouldn’t work, but the rage he felt now was becoming overwhelming.

“I’m not a child _now”,_ he spat out through gritted teeth. Half defiant, half desperate, because he knew it wouldn’t change anything.

Even in the heat of the moment, he had to hand it to him, Katsuki didn’t let himself be intimidated like he would have back when they were younger. Yuuri instead remained still, his face petrified.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still wouldn’t be right”, he insisted again. He was evidently trying to sound calm, to sound reasonable. “There’s only Victor for me. It’s always been only him. _This_ isn’t good for you, Yuri.”

“You think I don’t know that?!”

Yuri’s his pained words seemed to explode into pieces, their echo fading into the wooden walls.

 _Fuck._ He wasn’t going to break down crying in front of him. He would never give him that.

“You--” Yuri panted. “ _You_ invited me. You told me I could stay here.”

He knew that the implied accusation would sting, and he said it nonetheless. He wanted the words to hurt.

And hurt they did; Yuuri’s expression changed as if he had been slapped.

Yuri had not wanted to slap him.

He had wanted to kiss him.

 

Yuuri receded. His dark eyes looked huge and sad.

His hand moved reflexively towards the Russian as if to touch him, but he stopped himself inches away from doing so.

“I’m sorry, Yuri”, he murmured, eyes cast down.

At least he was smart enough not to call him ‘Yurio’; because if he had, Yuri probably would have snapped his wrist.

“Why are you _apologizing_ to _me_?” Yuri hissed.

Damn Katsuki and his kindness, his _understanding._ He always had to be the better man, didn’t he? The adult, the one who broke fights rather than starting them. The one who made everyone else feel accepted and important even when he was the one hurting…  

Yuri shrugged and pushed him away.

“Forget about it.”

“Yuri…”

“Good night.”

 

Before the other could stop him, the Russian slid through the door and shut it in his face.

The sound was loud.

The door had no key; Yuri couldn’t lock himself in, but Katsuki did not try to enter. He heard him knock, two, three times. Yuri bit the inside of his cheek and punched the door with full force.

The knocking stopped.

Stinging pain bloomed on his knuckles and made his hand pulse. He cursed in Russian, half screaming.

He wanted to wreck the room, he wanted to go back to Yuuri and shout in his face a little longer. He kicked his bag instead, sending a few pieces of clothing flying over the floor.

He was about to do it again when he forced himself to stop, his left leg raised in mid-air, fists curled up and arms rigid along his hips.

Standing in the middle of the floor, he clenched and unclenched his fists. He breathed loudly through his nose, in and out.

There was no point in acting like that, either.

He picked his belongings off the floor and he turned off the lights.

Yuri listened, but Katsuki didn’t come back.

 

**4.**

He and Yuuri did not go for a run together the next morning.

Victor arrived at noon, the others later, over the course of the afternoon.

Yuri greeted everyone. He answered Victor’s questions and reluctantly allowed his former coach to hug him and ruffle his long hair. He played with Makkachin, who had also travelled with Victor.

The others were kind and cheerful. Yuri didn’t admit it out loud, but he found that it was nice, after all, to see them all reunited again.

They played cards. They went for a walk to the waterfalls, they did their friendly races and Yuri didn’t get too angry when he didn’t win first place (Chris did).

Phichit took a million pictures and on the second day Yuri nonchalantly leaned over his shoulder to peek at the few ones were he appeared next to Yuuri. He snarled something about wanting them deleted because he didn’t like how he looked.

The Thai champion blew him a kiss, gripped his arm and dragged him along to take a million more.

 

That evening, after the last race of the tournament had ended, he and Yuuri almost clashed into each other as they entered opposite sides of the doorway to the changing room.

Yuuri scanned his face, hesitant and careful.

“Hey, Yuri…” Yuuri cut himself short before using the nickname. Yuri was grateful, though that detail wasn’t really what made him so angry, and they both knew it.

He smiled at Yuuri.

 “It’s ok.” He narrowed his eyes and his grin became playful. “Now, Katsudon, are you coming with us or do we have to eat all the food on our own?”

The hesitant smile that lit up Katsuki’s _stupid_ happy face almost made his heart jump into his throat.

Yuri nonchalantly pushed him to the side and walked past him, exiting the room, his blonde hair bouncing over his shoulders.

The Japanese was still staring at him when he turned back.

Katsuki nodded.

“Give me five minutes”, he said, smiling broadly.

Yuri snorted and walked off. “I’m not waiting for you, Katsuki!”

 

The sky above him when he exited the Ice Castle was a dark blue, with deep violet stripes. The air felt frizzy and cool, but not cold. It had not rained like the day before.

Yuri looked down and found his trembling reflection in the muddy water that still gathered in the small puddles and holes on the concrete.

He pushed back the hood of his jacket that he had draped over his head and opened his arms.

With the wind flying around his body, hitting his face and singing in his ears, he started running towards the rest of the group.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what I think about this story.  
> I'm not sure I like how it turned out; I was actually very unsure whether I should publish it or not. In the end, I decided to do so in the hopes that receiving external feedback would help me know what I did right and what I did wrong.  
> I should also note that when I wrote it, I changed my mind halfway through and decided to make Yuri's feelings completely unrequited.  
> I had actually wanted to depict an actual relationship between he and Yuuri, with Yuri no longer a minor; in the end, though, I didn't feel comfortable with the idea. Yuuri witnessed Yuri 'grow up' under his eyes, in a way. I felt that the relationship would still have some predatory/"jail bait" (to use extremely strong language) undertones that didn't fit with the way I see Yuuri Katsuki's character.  
> Yuuri is a very gentle and responsible person and I thought it more fitting for him to keep rejecting Yuri. (I also don't like the idea of characters cheating on their significant other, when I can avoid depicting it.)
> 
> A couple more things:  
> 1\. I assumed Yuuri wears contact lenses on the rink. Since he seems to wear glasses when he's not skating, I decided he's one of those people who don't find contacts very comfortable.  
> 2\. I mentioned Yuri living in the US to train and I decided to imply that, in this version, Yuuri and Victor are living somewhere together (probably in Russia). I used this element to further highlight the feeling of distance between Yuri and Yuuri.  
> (As I mentioned, I hadn't seen the official ending yet when I started writing).
> 
> I apologize for the loooonnnng notes. Let me know if there is anything I should fix. I hope you can enjoy my story even though my perfectionist self isn't very pleased with it.  
> Marty


End file.
